


mist and shadow

by Graysworks



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Happy Ending, Introspection, M/M, Or romantic, could read as, events of the returrn of the king, faramir pov, honestly the gang's all here but we're sad about faramir in the chilis tonight, movie compliant?, platonic Faramir/Pippin, sad boromir noises, y'know like how tolkien wrote ALL OF THEM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27386902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graysworks/pseuds/Graysworks
Summary: During the attack on Gondor, Faramir learns something about devotion.
Relationships: Boromir (Son of Denethor II) & Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Denethor II & Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Faramir (Son of Denethor II) & Pippin Took, Faramir (Son of Denethor II)/Pippin Took
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	mist and shadow

**Author's Note:**

> wanted to post something short and heartwarming after election day... it's for posterity....

There's shouts and cries and hooves pound stone, and in one ear Boromir jokes, self-congratulatory as ever, while in the other his father hisses with disbelief and disapproval. The rush in his ears has just started to die when he greets Gandalf, white as a sunbeam against the shadowed courtyard.

"Denethor was right," says a guard close to him, and several echo the sentiment before Gandalf retorts, and wheels around and there's- _Sam_?

No. Not Sam, barely close- the nose is off, the eyes, his jaw. Faramir tries to blink it away, but many faces have flashed before him today, and he can't shake the feeling that he can't trust everything further than arm's reach. He blames it on the shine that bounces off Gandalf's robes; the jump of fear and flight in his legs. Gandalf speaks and like reflex, he answers. He barely hears himself.

The halfling's head jerks toward him. His voice holds shock and fear.

"You've seen Frodo and Sam?"

And- desperate, clung-to hope. Like water doused across his face, Faramir snaps back to himself. 

"Where?" Gandalf demands. "When?"

It crushes him to answer and watch the halfling's smile disappear.

  
  
  
  


Just before the king's hall, he finishes his tale. The halfling -Pippin, he says, in a muted voice, about halfway through the castle- stares for most of it, save the part where Faramir describes the boat that carried his brother downriver, and from the way the last of his color drains as Faramir speaks of Frodo and Sam, he has his own fog to fight. As they stand before the great doors, and silence falls, he turns, slowly, and walks back the way they came.

"Oh, Peregrin Took," Gandalf murmurs, after he cannot hear them, "how entrenched in this even his kind have become- it bears no thought."

Faramir almost asks why he remained with the fellowship, even through the chance to turn back, but he knows, doesn't he? He knew when Sam clutched Frodo's hands in the middle of battle and devotion poured from his mouth. He knew before, maybe, from the way Sam shouted at him, but it was a bitter thing then and he wished for none to have it if he could not.

  
  
  


Pippin smiles again. In his armor, in wait to swear his life away to Faramir's pitiful father- he smiles, and when Faramir laughs, it's like an open wound, exposed to fresh air. He thinks, later -clouded by resentment- that it's no mistake that father brings up Osgiliath just after Pippin pledges himself. 

  
  
  


"Do you want to die, is that it?"

Faramir pulls the buckle tight; metal digs into his forearm. "You say he will see that I am strong, so it has come to this. We will see."

"This isn't the way. You'll be walking straight into their swords!"

"I like to think I will make it a little harder than that for them."

"Don't- joke about this, I'm serious!"

"You should not have to be," he says, and takes the helmet from the page. Pippin grabs his hand, and three out of ten guards draw their swords, which flatters them both; even at twice his height, Pippin couldn't be a threat, and Faramir's armor is more precious than his life, now. Still- only a hobbit could lay hands on a prince by birth and get away with it. Perhaps Sam would like to hear of it for his stories.

"Don't do this," Pippin says, and he hears the underlying plea: don't die for us as Boromir did.

"I will always be in his shadow, even in death," Faramir says, and pulls his arm free. "The least I can do is honor him with it."

As he fastens the last of his gear, and Pippin watches with a pained face, he wants to say, _go, leave here and find a sunny place to shut away the ending world_ but it's fruitless, and the hall seems far away again.

  
  
  
  


The battle -if one could call it that- passes in a blur.

Mud, metal, howls and cries and pleas and prayers.

He takes an arrow to the side and thinks, _Pippin would forgive that_ , then; _Boromir, make room in the hall of our fathers._

  
  
  
  


It's a shock that he doesn't die.

It’s a shock that he’s relieved.

  
  
  
  


Father's hair brushes his neck. Someone speaks gibberish and moans, and the ground shakes. Then wrinkled fingers leave his wrist and rounder ones cup his face; when they leave he calls out, afraid for Pippin, afraid for them _all_ \- Boromir goes on about something at his side, then all is quiet.

He thinks briefly he could not be so lucky as to die a clean, quick death. Of course, it has to play out like the poems and tragedies he and Boromir scoffed at between sword lessons- of course, his father's guard hauls him through the castle and lays him on a pallet and hauls him through more castle. What does he care? Boromir remarks on their deluded loyalty and Faramir laughs. It sounds like a wheeze.

When they douse him in oil, his heart stutters. Maybe he has some anguish left in him, or father has enough for them both. Boromir will shake his head, sigh in disapproval, but embrace them when it's done, and the-

Pain sears his back and left leg, sharp as a bed of nails. The room spins, he slams against stone, hands tug him both ways and smoke chokes him and his eyes open.

"Faramir," father says.

Pippin squeezes his arms like he’ll do something foolish.

The world goes dark.

  
  
  
  


When he wakes, it’s to the buzz of perseverance and reunion, overlaid with the scent of herbs and medicine and alcohol and _life_. He rises to his elbows, grips his side when pain spreads across his stomach -the arrow goes in again, though it’s bandaged thorough- and blinks away the searing light that streams through the high windows. To no avail.

He closes his eyes, and that’s when he hears it.

“-would not do to send you alone, I think.” Gandalf.

"You said yourself- he could be _hurt_.” Ah. Of course.

"Make haste then. Return as quickly as you can, there is a decision to be made."

He sits up fully as the brightness fades and when they look round, Pippin’s eyes go wide; Gandalf remains a feature of the crowd when Pippin runs, but his smile is contemplative, like he knows something Faramir doesn’t. Then again, Faramir can’t find it in him to care when Pippin kneels and embraces him. His breath leaves him in a wheeze.

“You’re awake! I was beginning to think I’d thrown you a bit too hard.”

“No, hgh- of course not,” he responds tightly, but manages to move his arms around Pippin in such a way that his torso doesn’t detach at his hip. “Are you hurt? Are you alright?” he says into Pippin’s shoulder. When he draws away -Faramir thinks, too soon- he smiles, but his eyes are wet and his brows low.

“Eowyn just told me our friend is outside the city. He could be hurt.”

It’s not an answer, but Faramir can’t judge him for that. The dark circles under his eyes match his bruised jaw, and Faramir grew up on tales of what the Nazgul could do to a man- not to mention what they could do to a hobbit. His own fevered visions from when he was carried to the tombs come to mind.

And stronger- the relief that came with the hands on his arms, the fear-gratitude-security-fear driven into him at the thought that someone so dear would risk himself for Faramir.

Ah. Perhaps he and Frodo would have understood each other better if they’d met after this.

**Author's Note:**

> Bro what if you... rode into battle.... and I sang a whole ass song over your fake death scene... what IF
> 
> I'm on twitter! @HazelMusings and more active honestly on tumblr @hazelnatcoffee


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